


ghosts

by steelatoms



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Homophobic Language, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Sad Richie Tozier, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, post It Chapter Two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 16:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20585537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelatoms/pseuds/steelatoms
Summary: Richie struggles to move on.





	ghosts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Slashaddict96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slashaddict96/gifts).

> Hi I love Richie Tozier he deserves the world. Also this is dedicated to my bestie Hannah.

Re-adjusting to life in a post-Pennywise life was difficult for each of the Losers, but none more than Richie. Formerly a loudmouthed arrogant, he had shrivelled up within himself, and whilst he had a televised live show coming, part of him didn’t want to do it.

_ “Rich?”  _ his agent called, “Rich, you’re on in thirty seconds, get your fucking ass on that stage.”

Richie blinked a few times, looking like the other man had been speaking another language for a moment before coming back to reality, “Right, sorry.” he headed down to the stage, hearing the other man wish him luck.

He didn’t reply, just headed out onto the stage silently, the roaring crowd in front of him deafening and the cameras making him feel extremely vulnerable. The others had promised to watch him on the television, to support his career.

Bill, Ben, Beverly and Mike.

The Loser’s Club, or what remained of them.

There were two human shaped holes in Richie’s heart, and though he felt guilty of it, one brought a particular kind of heartache.

He didn’t hear the director yell that they were live, so just stood there, hearing an awkward laugh bubble in the crowd.

“What are you doing?” his agent whisper-yelled from the side, and Richie exchanged a pained glance with him before turning back to the enraptured audience.

Hundreds of eyes stared at him but he couldn’t focus on a single pair, couldn’t think, couldn’t  _ breathe. _

_ “H…”  _ the consonant sounded weird coming from his mouth and he sought out the teleprompter and met the director’s confused gaze,  _ “Hello,”  _ the word came out choked, and he tugged at his tie, “H-Hey, everyone. I’m… I’m Richie Tozier.”

_ “Stick to the fucking script!”  _ his agent hissed, and there was a cough from the audience.

Richie ignored him, “I’m, uh, Richie Tozier and I--” the audience’s eyes looked straight through him, tearing him to shreds with the sheer contempt.

Someone booed, and more watchful eyes studied him, causing a cold sweat to break out over his forehead as he fiddled with his hands and glasses.

Richie cleared his throat, and felt the tears rise in his eyes; he wished Stan and Eddie would save him, wished he was alone, wished he could be himself for once, “I have something t-to confess.” the first tear fell, and his jaw began to tremble, “I’m Ri-- I’m, uh, I’m…” he sighed shakily and admitted the words that had been weighing him down, albiet under his breath, “I’m gay.” he swallowed thickly then reiterated, “I’m Richie Tozier and-- and I’m gay. And the man that I love… well, h-he recently died and I--” a laugh followed by a cry of ‘faggot’ caused him to break off, nausea rising within him, “I, uh, I can’t do this…” he turned on his heel and practically sprinted off the stage, shoulders shaking with sobs as he tore past his agent and headed into his dressing room, locking the door behind him.

He grabbed the bottle of bourbon that sat on his dressing table and downed a gulp of it before throwing it across the room with a scream, the glass smashing against the wall.

_ “Fuck!”  _ he yelled, then threw his fist into the wall, hot tears falling as he cried at the pain.

When his anger dissipated, he crumpled in front of the dressing room door, thick, ugly sobs escaping him. His body trembled with them and his head ached and no matter how hard he tried to reign it in, nothing could stop it.

He wanted to actually  _ die;  _ he had just come out on public television in front of a live audience and he had a mental breakdown in front of those people today.

He was mortified; normally he was used to making an idiot of himself, but here, now, all he felt was cold, hard shame.

There was a rough couple of raps at the door behind him, and his agent’s severely pissed off voice yelled, “Richie! Rich, open this fuckin’ door before I beat it down.”   
  


Richie shook his head, practically curling up into the foetal position as he sobbed into his knees, discarding his glasses to the floor to rub at his eyes.

He heard footsteps approaching and the murmur of soft voices, but couldn’t focus, all he wanted was to see Eddie again, to tell him the truth.

It was his fault.

He had convinced Eddie to be a hero, and now he was dead; every time he closed his eyes, he saw the blood, a lot of blood for someone who used to be so small.

There was another rattle at the door, but the voice behind this one wasn’t his agent; it was none other than Bill Denborough.

_ “Ruh-Ruh-Rich, it’s us.”  _ the leader of the Losers spoke with compassion in his tone, “W-we were going to s-surprise you a-after your interview, that’s why we--. But we’re here, if you could let u-us in?”

Richie shakily pulled himself to his feet, tears stinging his eyes some more as he unlocked the door, partially expecting a Pennywise trick, but instead seeing Ben, Beverly, Bill and Mike all standing there.

He crumbled instantly, falling into Beverly’s warm embrace as he choked out sobs into the nape of her neck whilst she kissed his temple. Mike joined the embrace, hand resting on Richie’s back. Ben and Bill came next, wrapping their arms around the small group as the latter’s cheek rested on his shoulder.

Richie sobbed; sobbed as hard as he had on the day Eddie died, as hard as he did as they swam in the creek, as hard as he had every night since. The sobs tore from him, painful, agonising hiccups that hurt his chest and all he wanted was to stop crying, to move on.

He couldn’t, and he knew why.

  
The whole world knew why now; a morbid, self-deprecating side of him wanted to see his Twitter, just to read the undoubtedly nasty words people would send him, calling him a faggot, a fairy, a pansy.

He cried even harder, feeling like he could barely breathe.

Some said crying after a loss made you feel better, but all he wanted to do was run and hide.

After what felt like an eternity, he managed to calm himself down, still shaking as he found himself on his sofa, crowded by his worried friends. He rubbed his sore eyes and took his glasses back when Mike handed them back.

The world remained blurry and unfocused, just as it had ever since the deaths of two of his family.

“You were in love with him.” Bev stated, breaking the awkward silence, “With Eddie.”   
  


_ Eds. _

Richie nodded, trying to ignore the urge to cry once more as his lower lip trembled, “I-I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t… I was ashamed. A-Afraid to…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Ben squeezed his hand, “You don’t have to explain. We love you man, no matter what.”   
  


Guilt ate up inside Richie, “It’s my fault. I was always such an ass to him -- always fuckin’ pushing him. And then the one time I’m not a dick, wh-when I convinced him and told him how brave he was, the dumbass gone and got himself killed.” he looked down, “How do I live with that? How do I--” another sharp inhale, “His wife, sh-she doesn’t even know. What do we even tell her? ‘Oh, sorry, ma’am, your husband was impaled when fighting a giant spider-clown-alien thing and his body has been lost to a self-destructing house!’”

“Eventually she’ll just give up the search.” Mike explained, “She’ll move on.”

Richie scoffed, “Yeah,  _ sure.  _ Her husband fucked off to fucking Derry and never returned, whoop-de-do, sure she’ll just move on.” he rubbed his face, “It should’ve been me.” he shakily got up and grabbed his spare bottle of bourbon that he hid in his drawer alongside several glasses.

He was about to pour when Bill took the bottle from him and did it instead, noticing how hard his friend’s hands were trembling. He handed him the glass, and Richie listlessly sat back down.

“I don’t know what to do.” he admitted, “I can’t sleep, can’t eat. And now I’ve fuckin’ ruined my whole career and future, so, yay!”

Bev took a swig of her own drink, “You’ll get through this, Rich. You’re strong.”

“See, that’s the thing.” Richie disagreed, “I’m not. You remember how all those years ago I claimed my biggest fear was clowns? Well, I fucking lied. My biggest fear was people seeing who I truly was. Seeing that deep down, Richie Tozier is a fucking fag.”

Ben flinched at the venom behind his tone, “You’re-- You’re not a bad person, Rich, you just have shit to deal with, okay?” he rested a hand on his shoulder, “Look, how about you come stay with us for a few days? I own a home in this city, it won’t be too far from your hotel, you can still come into work, but this way, we can look after you.”

“Y-You don’t have to do that…” Richie swallowed thickly.

Bev smiled, “Well, you know how it is. Losers forever.”

That managed to make Richie smile a little, and Bev grinned at that, leaning over and kissing him on the forehead once more. 

*

Unsurprisingly, his first night in Ben’s great big skyscraper of a building was a sleepless one, and though he fought the temptation, Richie looked at the latest Twitter news.

** _‘Comedian Richie Tozier has breakdown live on television’_ **

He let himself look at the article; 

** _‘Tonight, fans at the Regent Theatre in Los Angeles, California were disappointed to see as an apparently inebriated Tozier showed up and subsequently started crying before coming out as gay and storming off stage, ending the show prematurely._ **

** _Reaction to the 40-year old’s apparent meltdown have ranged from worried to extremely enraged, with some demanding refunds whilst others worry for the sake of Tozier’s mental state.’_ **

Richie scrolled down to read the comments, internalising each and every one of them as his eyes flickered across them.

** _‘Stupid, unfunny bastard. didnt like his material anyway. Weirdo.’_ **

** _‘Disgusting, those fans paid good money for this’_ **

** _‘I hope he’s ashamed, he disappointed his fans.’_ **

** _‘God punishes sinners, and the sin of sodomy is one of the worst.’_ **

Then, there was his personal favourite comment;

** _‘@RichieTozier kill urself faggot’_ **

There was something so visceral about the words ‘kill yourself’ that Richie couldn’t help but feel nauseous. Even worse was the word ‘faggot’, and with that one word he was a child again, crying on a park bench because he was so ashamed of who he was.

Once again, he felt like sobbing, but instead got up and grabbed his shoes, sneaking out of the house without alerting any of his friends (or so he thought, not realising that Bill had been expecting this all night), heading to the local park for a midnight stroll to take his mind off things.

Usually he was a motormouth, would find humour in the smallest places but here, his mind did all the talking as he imagined Eddie being with him..

_ You did this to me,  _ imagination Eddie would say,  _ You got me killed. _

“I know.” he mumbled a reply, “I know this is all my fault, I’m so sorry.”

As he carried the one-sided conversation, he barely noticed when he went barraging into a young man who had been lurking in the shadows. He froze, thinking it was Pennywise once again, that his fear had set the creature free once more, but instead of the soulless yellow eyes of his clown tormenter, he met eyes with an angry man in a hoodie.

_ “Fucking watch where you’re--”  _ the man broke off, then growled, “Wait. You’re fucking Richie Tozier. No fucking way.”

Richie groaned, “I’m not in the mood to give out auto--”   
  


“Good, because I wanna fucking talk to you.” the man hissed, “I was supposed to see you at the Regent, spent my hard earned cash on it, and what did I fucking get? A fucking chickenshit who cries and announces he’s a fag to everyone.”

Richie avoided his gaze, “Look, now isn’t a good time for me--”   
  


“You think I fuckin’ care? You used to be so fucking great, now you’re just a hack, a stupid, faggoty hack. Who fucking cares who you fuck? As long as you fucking tell your jokes and get it over with!”

Richie snapped back, “I don’t even write my own material, jackass! Now, if you wanted a refund, then fine. Take it up with my manager, I don’t fucking care, but don’t fucking corner me in the middle of the park and call me a faggot because something bad happened. There’s a shitton of other things to do, so just take your shitty ass bullshit opinions about me, my sexuality and my work and shove it straight up your ass!” he made a move to walk past the man but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder before being tossed to the ground, a fist rifling into his face immediately and busting his nose.

The man pushed him down, not relenting as he continued his assault, landing a knee to the ribs and banging his head against the ground. Yet, whilst he couldn’t stop himself from crying out in pain, Richie felt relieved.

The pain felt good, and he knew if he tried hard enough he could probably push the guy into beating him to death then and there -- it was different than taking his own life, and no less than he deserved. More punches, and Richie was coughing up blood this time, only for his attacker to relent a little.

“Come on, pussy.” Richie gasped out, “That all you got?”

The man laughed, “No, it isn’t,” and pulled out a sharp silver pocket knife, raising it above his head.

With a raspy exhale, Richie closed his eyes, expecting the final blow and to see Eddie and Stanley once more. The blow never came, and instead of being reunited with his loved ones, he felt the crushing weight of the man disappear and the clicking of a gun. Footsteps ran away and he finally opened his eyes, mindful of the broken lens in his glasses.

“Richie, oh my God!” Bev’s voice spoke and she rushed into his line of sight, helping him up to his feet whilst his eyes adjusted to the blurry shape of Mike holding a pistol.

When he was steadied, he was instantly faced by an enraged Bill, “Ruh-Ruh-Richie, what the  _ fuck  _ did you think you were doing, huh? W-Were you t-trying tuh-to get yourself k-killed? A-After Eddie and S-S-S-- Stanley, how could you? What the fuh-fuck is wrong with you?”

The dam broke, and the anger burned from Richie, “Oh, yeah. There is something  _ fucking  _ wrong with me, Billy. I fucking lost two of the most important people in my life, people I’ve known since I was fucking four, and one of them, I was fucking in love with. And now I can’t eat, can’t shower, can’t sleep, so yeah, I’m a fuckin’ wreck, but of course Blessed Saint Bill can’t understand that even though we all fucking remember how bad you were after Georgie. Now, I’m sorry I don’t fucking match your expectations on how to grieve or whatever, but I remember you dragging all of our asses down to the sewers to look for your dead baby brother.”

Bill hissed back, “Y-You shut up about Guh-Guh-Georgie, you hear me? I will kick y-your ass, Tozier. I will fucking kill you.”   
  


“Go ahead, do it!” he turned to Mike, “And what about you Mike, so obsessed with It that you didn’t even bother to have any kind of life for twenty seven years.” Mike looked down, upset by his biting comment, “Bev, Ben. Happily ever after and all that shit, huh? Well my happily ever after fucking died. He died!”   
  


Then Bill harshly retorted, “And if he saw you now, he would want to die again.”   
  


Enough was enough.

The weakened Richie’s fist came flying through the air, connecting with Bill’s face once, twice, then once more, each hit becoming less and less pain-inducing. Bill rubbed his cheek in pain, eyes stinging with tears whilst he looked at the equally shocked Richie.

Richie looked down at his bloodied fists, covered with the blood of his own best friend, and he couldn’t help but think of the other blood that was on his hands. He remembered It’s pincer going straight through Eddie before tossing him to the other side of the room.

He threw up, but all that came up was acid, and he took a few steps backwards, having gone nearly completely pale.

It took a few minutes for him to speak, and all he could manage was, “Guys, I-I think I need help.” before he fell to his knees, tears once again falling as he whispered hoarse apologies.

Beverly was the first to go to him, hugging and holding onto him tightly. Ben joined in, holding his hand whilst Mike ran a hand through his hair. Bill stood to the side for a moment, remembering simpler times when it was just the four of them, himself, Eddie, Stan and Richie, before It had come and ruined every single one of their lives.

Richie was hysterical as he howled out sobs, entire body shaking. He also most likely needed the hospital from the wounds he had been subjected to, but right now, he didn’t care. He didn’t care about tomorrow, he didn’t know if he was going to make it even through the next hour.

All he knew was that whilst he would be tormented by the ghosts of his loved ones, he had the remaining Losers by his side.

  
It was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos/comments are appreciated.
> 
> Follow my twitter @steelatoms and my tumblr @bisexualseg-el


End file.
